Second Skin
Wayward
By: M Damon Baker
Copyright © 2020 by M Damon Baker
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 9798635754221
Interior design and ebooks by Booknook.biz.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
1
I’d gained no respite from my so-called training session. Thoroughly spent and frustrated, I tossed my practice shield on the weapons rack and stalked out of the arena, but the long walk back to my chambers only piled additional aggravations upon me. No matter what sort of diversion I managed to find for myself, nothing could hold those feelings at bay for very long. Reminders of the Goddess’ presence confronted me at every turn, always waiting to taunt me with her ‘perfection.’ The fucking sheep of these Realms might have bought into her legend, but that bitch hadn’t fooled me. I recognized her for the fraud she truly was—the veil she’d hidden behind had quickly fallen away after my mother’s death.
Of course, it hadn’t always been that way. In my youth, I’d idolized the Goddess just like everyone else. Everyone already knew of my origins, but I remember the sense of honor I’d once felt when referring to myself as her daughter—I was such a naïve idiot.
My real mother had always smiled when I’d claimed my birthright, her beautiful face lighting up with her own sense of pride as well. But we’d both been overcome with the Goddess’ majesty and too blinded by her false image to see the truth. Living so close to the Goddess and basking in her reflected light left me completely unprepared for the brutal realities when they finally came for me.
I’d been young—only in my early twenties—when my mother began to fall ill. The Goddess had attended her as she’d declined, deceiving me with her false displays of concern as she watched my mother wither away and slowly die, doing nothing to spare her.
“I can’t save Insleí,” I remembered the Goddess crying her fake tears as she’d sought to excuse her own failure. “We should have had so much more time together; I don’t understand.”
I should’ve had more time with Insleí as well, but the selfish fucking Goddess refused to grant my mother’s request for a child from her for centuries. Perhaps her loss would have been easier to bear if I’d had siblings to grieve alongside me, but the Goddess flatly denied my mother’s wishes, claiming some bullshit excuse that conceiving with anyone but her Taríel had been far too strenuous.
Her illness progressed rapidly, robbing my mother of both her youth and beauty, and within a few short weeks, she was taken from me almost without warning. The Goddess remained by my side during those difficult days, providing comfort in my time of pain and confusion. I’d once been grateful for the solace she’d offered, but now recognized it as an empty gesture that had only served to assuage her own sense of guilt.
It was difficult to believe that the woman I’d once thought of as my divine mother was a fraud, but when the pain slowly subsided and my vision finally cleared, the truth of it became far too obvious for me to ignore. The indications were subtle at first but became more glaring as I gradually learned what to look for. As the… inconsistencies began to pile up all around me, I came to an unsettling conclusion: My entire life had been based on a lie.
Everything about Dreya was a work of fiction—fairy tales crafted to impress the gullible masses. The woman that ruled over the Realms of Arrika had slain a Goddess to obtain her powers, yet the fictional stories of her early life spun tales of a weak individual, one who’d even been at the mercy of a pathetic band of criminals for a time. Preposterous was what they were; ludicrous fantasies for small-minded fools. The Goddess may not have always been quite as powerful as she was now, but she’d come into this world as one of the Deathless—it was impossible for her to ever have been as helpless as her… mythology claimed. There were certainly lessons to be learned from those fables; strength, skill, and the ability to protect one’s self in a dangerous world, yet I also knew that the Goddess had never been the vulnerable creature of those fanciful stories. The only purpose of those ridiculous fabrications was to bolster her own image. Even worse than hearing those stupid tales over and over was being forced to watch her live out the ‘happily ever’ ending to her story—complete with festivals and ‘family’ gatherings—while I was left to endure its aftermath.
The Goddess was no benefactor. She was a fucking leech, sucking people dry and discarding their empty husks once they were no longer of any use to her. Everything she did, all the myths she’d created about herself, only served to further her own selfish goals. Insleí had just been the most recent of her victims; many others had fallen prey to her manipulations over the centuries, I’d just never witnessed her… disposing of one of them before. Yet seeing the Goddess do just that with my own mother broke me free of her illusions, and I’d finally seen the woman behind the mask clearly for the first time.
To say that the realization came as a shock to me would have been quite the understatement. I’d truly loved the Goddess—even though my real mother had given birth to me, it had been the Goddess who’d given me life. Knowing that I owed my life to such a detestable woman and that no one else seemed to be capable of recognizing just how horrible she truly was only made matters worse.
Yet I was also at her mercy, completely dependent on her for my very existence. I had no means to support myself, and the Goddess forbade me to leave the Imperial District, claiming that I wasn’t ready to find my own way in the world beyond its borders. Trapped in her domain, I was forced to bite my tongue and bear silent witness to her false image day after excruciating day.
As if to test my ability, the woman who came to… replace my mother arrived only a few short weeks after her death. Young and completely oblivious to the Goddess’ deceitful ways, she soon fell under the same spell that had once bound my mother so tightly, becoming the latest victim in the seemingly endless parade of cattle the Goddess preyed upon.
Just reliving those bitter memories made me sick, and I had to stop them from running through my mind before my temper got the better of me once again. I’d lashed out on occasion over the last few years, usually only managing to make things even more difficult for me. There were few people left in the Imperial District that I cared about, but I’d hurt them with my thoughtless actions—an error I was trying hard not to repeat.
One of them was my Aunt Venna, who, despite being older than my mother, showed no signs of the cruel wasting disease that had taken her from me. The Goddess believed the reason it had stricken my mother so early was due to the combination of the harshness of her younger life and the rigors of my own conception. I’d barely been able to contain my rage when I
learned that the fucking bitch actually had the gall to blame my mother for her own death, absolving herself of the obvious role she’d played in Insleí’s demise. Adding my own birth into the mix was just an extra added touch of her particular evil. My mother hadn’t died from any ‘strain’ she’d suffered, either in her early life or my conception. That was just some bullshit the Goddess invented to cover up her own failings. The true cause of her death was the broken heart in her chest that was no longer able to sustain her. I was convinced that she wanted more from her life than to be a mere facet in the Goddess’ existence—a wish the Goddess had refused to grant.
Ironically, Líann was another one of those I still cared about. As the Goddess’ Taríel, the woman was nearly immortal and had no need to fear that she might meet the same terrible end as my mother had. Although she was firmly under Dreya’s control, Líann was everything the Goddess wasn’t: gracious, kind, genuine, and decent. Despite my anger, I couldn’t even bring myself to resent the three children the Goddess had seen fit to bless her with long before she’d finally granted my mother’s wish for a child of her own.
Líann’s first daughter, Ravíenne, sat upon the Empire’s throne. She was well over two centuries old and administrated the Goddess’ affairs in her stead. A constant stream of suitors sought to rule by her side, but she’d yet to choose any from among them, deftly balancing the competing political merits before committing to any final decision. Like all of Líann’s children, she favored her mother in the extreme; looking at Ravíenne, one might as well have been staring at a portrait of Líann.
Prince Caelen was Líann’s middle child and only son. In contrast to Ravíenne’s more… calculating romantic forays, Caelen reveled in the attention that was showered upon him. The nobility and well-heeled of every Realm in Arrika sent their first-born daughters to try and win over his heart, and Caelen basked in their affections. Even so, he was a decent man and didn’t seek to abuse his suitors; Caelen merely took full advantage of the opportunity to get to know each and every one of the beautiful women that sought his approval. My half-brother was truly a Prince in more than just name.
Immaní was the youngest and also the most… reserved of the three. Although she too was the subject of much pursuit, Immaní showed no interest in romantic liaisons. Her attention was almost entirely consumed by her study of magic and spells, with little time left over for more mundane endeavors. Even with her nose frequently buried in the enormous pile of books that seemed to follow Immaní wherever she went, as the younger sister of the sitting Empress, there was no shortage of eager suitors clamoring for her hand either.
The three of them were technically my half-siblings, and even though they were still beguiled by the Goddess, I loved them all very much. Like their mortal mother, each of them was truly decent, without a hint of the duplicity that was the hallmark of our divine parent. Being so much older than I was created some distance between us, but we managed to get along quite well whenever we were together.
Out of the many thousands who called the Imperial District home, the five of them were about the only ones I gave a shit about. I might have included Venna’s children and the multiple generations of her descendants that lived there as well, but to be honest, there were so many that I had trouble even remembering all their names. Although they seemed nice enough, I never got to know any of them well enough to truly call them friends.
Reminding myself of those few people who mattered to me soothed the roughest edges of my anger, yet I was still uneasy sitting alone in the darkness of my chambers. Although the stuffy, overly formal rooms were my own, having been granted to me by the ‘grace’ of the Goddess, they offered me no real sense of peace—only serving as yet another reminder of how I was still beholden to the woman who’d let my mother die. There was only one place where I found any relief from her overbearing presence, and I shed my practice blades as I prepared to go there.
Although the Goddess had forbidden me to leave the Imperial District, I lived for the day when I could finally be free of her. I went so far as to pretend that every time I left the Palace, it would be to head beyond the Garrison gates and never look back again. As I slipped into my armor and strapped my weapons in place, I imagined once again that this time it would be for real—that somehow, I’d escape from the Goddess’ prison and finally be on my own. Despite knowing the utter futility of that dream, I managed to smile at the thought of it for a moment—until I flipped the mirror around to have a look at myself before heading off.
A quick glance was all it took to ensure that my armor and equipment were all in order, but that wasn’t the reason why my mood once again turned sour. I kept the mirror facing the wall for good cause; the only thing I ever saw looking back at me when I gazed at the reflection there made me want to vomit.
Despite how hard I tried to find the traces of my real mother staring back at me, every feature of hers that I’d inherited was marred by the Goddess’ presence. Although I had my mother’s deeply tanned skin and blue-gray eyes that shifted in color with my emotions, including the same dark blond hair that was so uncommon among the elvish people, my body was a near-perfect copy of the Goddess’ fuller human figure, not the more graceful and lean form my mother had possessed. Even the hair that hung between my shoulders lacked the smooth elven texture of hers, draping down my back in thick strands instead—exactly like the Goddess’. Perhaps I could have overlooked both of those, but it only got worse from there.
I hated my fucking face. Seeing the image of the Goddess looking back at me was more than I could take. It was as if she was taunting me, making me an almost exact duplicate of herself with just enough remnants of my mother left behind to torment me. Sure, my skin was a bit darker than hers, but there was no doubt it was the Goddess I was staring at. Most distressing of all were the eyes that took all of this in, so close to being my mother’s that it pained me every time I caught a glimpse of them—almost perfect, save for the bright flecks of green scattered among the gray.
It was bad enough to have those constant reminders always waiting for me, lurking in my own reflection. What made it even more unbearable was the fact that there was absolutely no escaping them. Everywhere I went, people searched my eyes for the very thing I loathed most: the glaring evidence of the Goddess’ presence within me. I desperately wanted to punch each and every one of them in the face for daring to compare me to her. I was nothing like that heartless bitch.
Having seen more than enough, I flipped the mirror back around, nearly shattering the glass as I hurried to free myself from the disturbing image on its surface. It wouldn’t have been the first of them I’d have broken, and I didn’t really care, but I was growing tired of making up excuses for needing to replace the fixture so frequently.
After viewing the detestable sight, my rage returned in full force, and I knew I needed to be on my way quickly. The door slammed hard as I left the hated rooms behind, echoing loudly down the hallway alongside the sound of my footsteps as I ventured towards the Palace gates.
2
I’d barely made it beyond those gates when a messenger wearing the ridiculously large feathered cap of his ‘office’ came bobbing down the hallway after me. Rolling my eyes, I turned to face the man, already certain of the news he was bearing.
“Princess Ashíel, Princess Ashíel!!!”
Gods, I hated when they called me that.
“Forgive me, Highness, but you have an appointment this evening,” he ‘reminded’ me.
“I know,” I snapped back at him. “I’m just going for a walk. I’ll be back in plenty of time to meet my… guests.”
Seeing the look of genuine fear in his eyes made me regret my harsh tone just a little. After skipping out on more than a few of these ‘appointments,’ I understood why the Goddess had arranged for people to keep an eye on me whenever they were scheduled. But I truly detested the charade that they were; even more than that, I found them absolutely insulting.
My so-called ‘guests�
� that day were only the latest batch of suitors whose families sought to use me to tie themselves to the Goddess. But I wasn’t in the direct line of succession to the throne, so unlike those who pursued my half-siblings, these were no firstborn heirs or heads of noble houses I was destined to meet. No, my hand was worth only second-sons at best; cast-offs and lesser borns who came to try and charm their way into my bedroom.
Although I did manage to amuse myself at their expense from time to time, the entire process infuriated me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I could tell that most of my ‘suitors’ had no real interest in me either—they were only there out of some sense of familial obligation. Their lack of enthusiasm never seemed to prevent them from gawking, however; most of them were more than willing to ogle me whenever they thought I wasn’t looking. I came to understand that their disinterest was limited to who I was as a person—perceiving me only as an object, they were more than happy with what they saw. My disdain eventually brought about a rather interesting change when the first noble thought to offer up one of their daughters, obviously thinking that my preferences might mimic those of the Goddess.
That had certainly caught me off guard. While I had nothing but contempt for my previous suitors, I’d definitely found more than a few of them to be… attractive. Discovering a woman among those waiting to meet me that day had been both surprising and a bit unsettling.
Yet I’d often sought to frustrate whoever it was that had been arranging these affairs, so I feigned some slight interest in the pretty little thing. Before I knew it, I was besieged with both second-born sons and daughters, all seeming less than enthusiastic over the lot that they’d drawn. Feeling trapped by the situation, I held my tongue as best I could, reluctantly playing my role while hating each and every one of them in return.
Unfortunately, I simply couldn’t help myself for very long. They were such a contemptible bunch, and as each of them finally gave up and returned home in defeat, another would only come to take their place. One in particular became the focus of my ire, and I sought to torment her just a little in return.
Second Skin: Wayward: A litRPG Adventure (Second Skin Book 7) Page 1